Crucifixion: Blood's Birth
by KelDragon
Summary: A story set far, far in the past. Long, long ago, when Orre was more than a desert, when the proud city of Babylon glemed like a jewel, Mew was nailed to an iron cross. The price of her blood was thirty silver coins.
1. Prelude to the First Judgment

Author's Notes:

Well, well, well, lookee what you have stumbled upon. A dark, tragic tale of murder and--ah, stop it with the pretenciousness now. This, as I'm sure you all would love to know, is my first fanfic. It is, in turn, loosely based on another fic with similar elements called Aeon: End. (Not sure if it's on FFN, unfortunately.) Anyway, I do a lot of editing and previewing to make sure stuff comes out right, but I always miss things. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. If you want to flame my story, go ahead--hey, if your suggestions are good, I will, not might, incorporate them somehow. I can't promise when I'll be updating this, but I'll do my very best. And now...

Crucifixión: Blood's Birth

"Blood can only be shed by those in whose veins it does not flow."

--

Prelude to The First Judgment

OPENING OF THE SCROLL

The sharp gleam of the crescent pierced the clouds. Ragged folds of fog wisped outward as pale light shown on a barren plain, studded with blackened stone. The great expanse of brown soil was devoid of all life. Silence layover the dusk like a cloak of soft velvet.

I am a child of the Void, of the Silver One. I am the ruler of the deeps, of the crystalline white waves of the farthest seas. I call down the moonlight on those I favor. I call down the storms of raging ice on those who blaspheme my name. I am Selene.

Out of the twinkling sky dove a great and terrible apparition. Glistening, icy white tail streaming behind it, its wings and sweeping crest shone as silver and sea-blue. Its beak was slate-grey and curved downward as a frozen sickle. The great bird uttered a high, piercing cry that tore asunder the darkened night.

Below, the rocks of the fields glittered dully under the icy light of the eagle. Delicate flakes of starry-white snow flurried round the Articuno's body as it arose toward the rounded curve of the moon.

Doom! Doom is what we have brought upon ourselves. In our foolish vanity, we have cursed this world forever. Heaven's blazing bows are seen no more. The cry of the Void shall never be heard again.

The clip-clop of shod hoofs came ringing through the distance. The wind keenly moaned in a soft, sibilant voice. Crooning, it swirled in anticipation of the coming demon.

Beyond the grey light of the stars could be seen the golden shine of a plumed helm. Dark auburn hair, bound into double braids, swished over golden shoulder plates of armor. A shining sword of jeweled mithril rested over the figures left hip as his sun-bleached hands clutched tanned leather reins.

The horse was white as snow in hair and mane. Bright flames seemed to issue forth from its open maw as its star-kissed tail whipped out behind it. Galloping across the fallows, it was a meteoric symbol of fire to all those who saw it.

"On, Hrimfaxi," the young man murmured. "On!"

He is the one. The one who has done our deed for us. The final knell of the hammer that forever has doomed this world.

Out from behind a circle of clouds came a brilliant bolt of blue light. A shriek of triumph pierced Selene's breast as her golden companion blazed out beyond the fog. Lightning starkly illuminated the spired monoliths of granite below.

In a swirling flash of white fire, the other eagle burst from the cloud. Its feathers, flashing blue, were wildly splayed in all directions, its majestic golden tail fanning out in a triangle behind it. Each flap of its mighty wings brought a booming clap of thunder. Sparks of light surrounded the enormous hawk as it swooped toward its sister. Its long, thin beak glowed eerily blue.

The armored figure gazed up at the majestic sight of the circling twins--one of ice, one of thunder.

"Sister!" the thunderbird cried. "The city--it has gone?"

"Indeed, my Indra," Selene wailed. "We have destroyed it. We have destroyed the world!"

With a shriek, Indra blasted a white bolt of jagged lightning toward one of the monstrous standing stones. The pocked megalith exploded with a harsh crack into a cloud of grey fragmented dust.

"We have all been fools. More than even you know, dear sister. Sin stalks the world now--as does its master."

Snow-flecked wind whipped around Selene as she flew towards her brother. "Where is Helios? Where is our brother? Have the zealots of Babylon slaughtered him as well?"

Just as her words faded into nothing, there was a crimson flash higher in the dark expanse of the sky. A huge, red-breasted falcon swept down from the stars, its wings alight with blazing orange fire. Its talons were obsidian black and its crest flared blood-red.

Indra and Selene swerved in towards the falcon in unison. White, gold, and red feathers blended into rainbow hues as the three great birds flew in formation toward the lone figure in the midst of the dusky stones.

"Helios--where has the Mother gone? Surely, one iron cross is not enough to kill her!" Selene exclaimed over the booming of Indra's wings.

"Do not call me that!" the great red hawk spat. "I have failed in my duties. I am Helios, Lord of the Blazing Sun, no longer!"

Selene looked aghast, Indra thunderstruck. They both paused in mid-air as Helios circled them both. His wings spurted bursts of fire as his eyes were lit by a dull orange glow.

"Our Mother is gone. Something far, far worse has risen in her place. It is my duty to hunt her down. Helios, I am not. I am Lugh! Longclaw, Prince of the Shining Wings!"

Below them, the now dismounted black-skinned man raised a white gloved hand. Resting in his palm glittered a metal sphere. Carved with strange, swirling glyphs, its red-and-white face was reflect in the beams of the crescent moon above.

"It is he I want," called Longclaw. "He is the one I need for this task."

Indra shrieked with rage, affronted. "How dare you, my brother! You, a child of Heaven, must not dare say such a thing! He is the one who nailed our mother to that accursed cross!"

The Moltres let out a sardonic laugh, along with a jet of blue fire. "Exactly why he is the only one who can destroy her, you fool. Indra, o Indra! Lord of the skies! You, especially, are to blame for this!"

A shriek rose in the Zapdos' throat as his beak began to emit deadly blue sparks. He dived toward Longclaw in a rage, wings bursting with electrical energy. Effortlessly, the red falcon swooped out of the way. He said nothing as fire coalesced around his outstretched wings. Talons of fire lanced at Indra. Flames blasted into the bird, scorching his golden feathers.

Below, the man looked on, his tan face stoic in the garish light of Longclaw's fire. "Fool, Indra! The human is mine! Now stand aside, or by the rainbow Phoenix I swear I will gut you as you fly!"

Indra roared in pain as his golden plumage smoked. He swooped upward, rejoining the white-headed Selene. Longclaw gazed with his bloodshot eyes down at the human.

It happened in the blink of a moment. The shining sphere was loffted into the air, hurtling at break-neck speed towards Lugh. There was a burst of brilliant white light, and the falcon instantly vanished from sight. The ball dropped back into the man's gloved hand.

He smiled, softly. His weathered face creased in triumph as the sphere shook within his hand. There was a dull gleam, and it was still.

Selene's beak gaped in astonishment, the blizzard of snow dying around her. It could not be. Her brother could not be gone. Not so soon after her mother.

Not again.

"Helios!!"

Her shriek was as the shriek of a mother, holding her still-born baby in her arms. It pierced the velvety cloak of darkness, ripping the night to pieces. There was a deafening clap of thunder as Indra streaked downward toward the auburn head of the man. Faster than the eye could catch, the sphere was flying through the air. In a blaze of red light, Longclaw emerged, wings flaring with white flame.

"Now, my foolish sibling!" he roared. "I shall make good on my promise!"

Talons sheathed in crackling fire of the sun, Longclaw slashed viciously at Indra's chest.

"No!"

The shout came from the man. His eyes were lit with rage as he gestured frantically at Longclaw. "Do not, my servant! It is not your place to decide who lives and who dies!"

Indra flapped upward, eyes dull with muted fright. Longclaw's entire body was erupting in flames as he fought to keep himself under control.

"I am not your servant!" he glared with his crimson eyes down at the man. "I am ... your partner."

The man laughed in a deep, sonorous voice. "Very well then. But you still must not kill him. There are little enough of your kind left. I will not tolerate one more being lost. I would capture all three of you, if I could."

This time Longclaw laughed wickedly. "I do not believe that. Even so ... I have seen very few of your kind worthy enough of our power."

A spot of red crept up the man's cheeks. "I do not seek your power, legend. I seek my death."

Reaching down into an etched leather boot, he withdrew a yellowed velum scroll. "This was penned by Nidhog, Dragon of the Great Tree, in the catacombs beneath Mir. It is my only hope."

He raised the scroll high in his hand. Seven serpentine seals were emblazoned in wax on its surface.

"I shall break these seals. One by one. I, Valentinus Brutus Sextus, do swear that I will save this world. That the Black Plague will not overrun our existence. I can only pray ... that

Sin does not spread to my very soul before the task is done. Longclaw! Return, now!"

A snaking beam of red light shot from the sphere, engulfing the Moltres in radiance. With a crack, he vanished.

"Now ... the first seal shall be opened," Valentinus intoned, a look of mingled wonder and horror on his face. With one calloused finger, he broke the first serpentine glyph. One corner of the scroll pealed back, as a keening, otherworldly voice began to sing. Valentinus gazed upward, to see Selene and Indra entwining their voices into one song. A song for the End of the Age.

--

SONG OF THE LEGENDS

Mother, you of the radiant stars,

You of the shining eyes,

You of the brightest day,

You of the greatest love,

You of the purest heart,

Pierced by an iron cross,

Pierced by we who loved you.

Ho-oh, lord of the blazing suns,

Rainbow phoenix, shining star,

Fire of glory, flare of darkness,

Morning light, flaming meridian,

You who give us life and death,

You who punished us with the judgment of fire.

Lugia, queen of the silver moon,

You, dragon of the depthless ocean,

You, caller of the wild waves,

You, bringer of the roaring gales,

You, of the blue torrential storm,

You, who have abandoned your children.

Selene, lady of the far north,

You, of the shining wings and white song,

You, spirit of the farthest sea,

You, eagle of the moonlight frost,

You, caller of the biting snows,

You, lover of the coldest winds.

Indra, king of the rolling clouds,

You, who bring lightning to the ocean,

You, thunderbird, gold on your wings,

You, shrieking one, harbinger of light,

You, of the mighty wings, of the star-white bolts,

You, who contest the sun.

Helios, prince of the fiery earth,

You, rider on scorching winds,

You, king of the roaring blaze,

You, who soar in the darkest sky,

You, Firewings, burning bright,

You, bringer of light to men.

Legends, beloved by the world,

Legends, forgotten by time,

Legends, abandoned by fate,

Legends, caught by Sin,

Legends, lost in the story,

Of the death and resurrection of the infinite.

--

"Then I saw in the right hand of him who sat on the throne a scroll with writing on both sides and sealed with seven seals. And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming in a loud voice, Who is worthy to break the seals and open the scroll? But no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth could open the scroll or even look inside it. I wept and wept because no one was found who was worthy to open the scroll or look inside."

--Revelation 5:1-4

THE FIRST SEAL

The Bricklayer. Ziggurat. Dreams and Secrets.

Sweat beaded his forehead as he lifted the enormous red block of crystal-stone from the ground. Massively muscled arms strained to force the brick into its rightful place. The sun burned down on the back of Sextus's neck as he coated the cracks in the wall with mud mixed with clay and sand. The mortar baked in the sun, drying and cracking. Thus, more mortar would be placed in the bricks, which would expand and harden.

A stout Machoke beside him effortlessly lifted a rough stone, smashing it into a gap next to his own. Brutus' thoughts wandered as his arms lifted and placed, lifted and placed. Back to the Golden Market, to the phoenix-ships and silk stalls with the fat, greasy merchants looking to make a copper. There he had been bound and gagged with sealskin rope, paraded down the jade streets of Mir for all to see.

"Strong, brown-skinned slaves!" his driver shouted harshly, bringing a bladed thong down on his bronzed back. Valentinus held back a cry of pain, keeping his head down as he strode forward. He was placed up on a chopped wooden block for the pale-skinned Mirans to admire. Together with their creatures they walked past, some laughing and others staring admiringly at his rippling physique.

He gazed around in trepidation. Vendors dressed in soft Arcanine fur sold trinkets of gold and silver. The smell of cooking meat over fires pervaded the streets. Valentinus' stomach growled in protest. They had only given him a scrap of bread to chew on before his display.

A short, plump man dressed in a silk robe embroidered with Dragonair approached the block. His eyes gleamed red in wrinkled folds of white skin. Brutus looked down in disgust.

"Ah," the man said in a smooth, oily voice. "Let us see here. Strong arms ... good eyes. Workman's hands. Yes, my good master, this will be an excellent addition to my supply of bricklayers."

Sextus strained at his bonds. "Don't talk to me like I am chattel, you Miran devil!" he shouted.

His feet slipped forward. The oak block he was standing on overbalanced, and Valentinus toppled on to the rich merchant.

They fell in a tangle of flesh and robes, Brutus kicking every part of the merchant he could reach. Pale-skinned onlookers laughed with glee at the sight of a foreign slave wrestling with a merchant.

Strong, iron-ringed hands grasped Sextus' broad shoulders, wrenching him off the whimpering Miran. Roaring, the slave struggled to break free of two burly men's grips. One backhanded him across the face, steel rings producing long, bloody gouges. The Miran he had beaten was getting to his feet, spluttering with the utmost indignation. He withdrew a red-and-white sphere from a leather belt around his waist, lobbing it gently into the air. A flash of white light, and the ball opened. A tall, strapping creature emerged from the light. Scales of dark red, contrasted with its long, twining tail, tipped with a crackling blue flame.

"Charmelion," the foreigner hissed in his oily voice, "teach this insolent fool a lesson. Slash!"

The guards let him go, amused at the display that would follow. The Charmelion raised a clawed hand, leaping forward with a roar toward Sextus.

With a growl, Valentinus whirled on the spot. A tanned foot slammed into the Charmelion's gut. It shrieked with pain, but still attempted to swipe at the slave. Sextus snapped his hand outward, latching onto the Pokemon's wrist. With a twist and a crack, the Charmelion was staggering back in agony.

The Miran was looking positively enraged at this turn of events. Valentinus' master, a stout dark-haired man, gripped his thong with both hands.

"I shall kill you, worthless slave!" the Miran's lips were flecked with spit. "Charmelion, employ your Fire Spin now!"

The lizard-Pokemon hissed through its teeth. With a bang and a loud crackle, a bright ring of azure fire erupted into being around Brutus. The flames began to spiral inward, slowly closing in on the hapless slave. The Mirans watched with baited breath, smiles on their faces as they waited to see him burned alive.

Sextus crouched, legs poised. Just as it appeared the fire would begin to singe his body, he leapt upward with a deafening roar. The fire whirled into a sphere that exploded into innumerable crimson fragments.

"Now, foolish white-skin, do you seek to kill me once more?" Valentinus' mouth twisted down in a curling smirk.

"Guards!" the foreigner screamed, practically in apoplexy. "Seize him!"

Instantly, four hugely muscled men wearing leather banded with iron grabbed Sextus' arms, hauling in the air. He fought, growling and kicking, but was soon subdued by a guard's well-placed fist. He was unceremoniously dropped onto a rickety wooden cart pulled by two large Growlithe. The Miran directed the cart through a maze of twisting jade streets, to a plot of soil where several other tan foreigners were laying bricks and spreading mortar.

With a decisive slap to the face, the slave was awakened. The guards yanked him to his feet, where he wobbled uncomfortably. Eyes of the darkest brown glared around at his captors. The oily Miran bowed to him, wiping a sweaty hand on his forehead.

"Sir," he said in a suspiciously kind voice tinged with mirth. "You have displayed ... excellent skill. I am sure, your services can be ... put to use. You see, my good man, my family is quite wealthy. We are patrons of a grand plan in a far-off city, and we need--was

Seemingly out of impatience, Sextus spat in his face.

Unperturbed, the man wiped his face once again. "Now," he hissed. "Let's not have any of that. I really do not want to command my guards to injure you again."

Smoldering, Valentinus relaxed his muscles. "Fine," he growled. "Speak your due, Miran."

"Very well. Now, my sir. We are patrons of a grand plan in a far off city. Perhaps you have heard of Babylon, on the shore of the Orre Ocean?"

Valentinus' gave a kurt nod. "I have."

"We are building a ziggurat there! Imagine it, my good man! A ziggurat! A tower to touch the very clouds! It will be a temple to the Mother, of course. We don't want to dishonor our great God."

Dark brown eyes alight, Sextus face showed slightly more interest. "And you ... you would like me to help build this ziggurat?"

"Why, yes!" the Miran looked positively delighted, his watery blue eyes lit with a keen fire. "You see, my sir, you are a superb fighter. And, you may make an absolutely wonderful bricklayer, with a little tutoring. You will come to Babylon with me and my family. You will be accorded all the luxuries of an honored guest--if you due as you are told."

"Ha!" Valentinus snorted. "And what will I be told to do, Miran?"

"Why, sir, simply lay bricks! It will not be strenuous I assure you--the foundation's shall be your occupation. You will not have the job of climbing the twisting spiral of silver to place the quartz bricks at the very top of the ziggurat. And ... if you perform your job satisfactorily ... you shall be rewarded."

Sextus' teeth clenched in annoyance at the Miran's smugly superior attitude. "It doesn't appear I have a choice, does it, Miran?"

The Miran shook his head, his elaborately curled dark hair swishing behind him. "Not so, I fear, my sir. Now--if you would follow your guards, they will escort you to your chambers ?was

His guards had lead him through a house built of strong oak logs, paneled in slats of spruce wood. Lacquered gold tables were set with foaming goblets and collops of meat in the dining hall. Walking past that, Sextus' grumbled in protest. "If I am to work for this tyrant, I would like at least a little bread."

"Quiet!" hissed one of the guards, slamming a fist into Valentinus' gut. "You do not speak of our master, wretch!"

Valentinus growled in his throat, but stayed doubled over as if in pain. Standing up, he nodded to the guards. "Take me to my room, then."

His room consisted of a bare oak floor, lined with rushes and soft furs. A plain table set with a clay jug of water and plate of hard bread sat beside a hard wooden bed. Taking some of the green rushes, Valentinus spread them on the bed to use for a makeshift blanket.

Wolfing down the bread greedily, his mind raced to form a coherent picture. He gulped the jug of water as he formulated a plan. He leaped nimbly onto the low bed, arranging the rushes to his satisfaction. Spreading his arms in contentment, his mind relaxed into a sound sleep.

--

Towering above him, there stood a vast iron cross. Its rosy surface was flourished with frescos of delicate white flowers. Fog surrounded it, hazy smoke obscuring vision. Pained, whimpering cries were issuing from its top.

Valentinus strained his eyes, seeking to find the source. Desperately, he leaped upward and began shimmying his way up the cross. The fog began to disperse, wisps of haze choking his nostrils. He caught a brief glimpse of dark pink fur before he felt a clammy, clawed hand grasp his throat from behind. A low, rasping voice hissed a guttural tongue into his ear.

His body began to tremble in horror as the icy hand began to squeeze his windpipe. "No--no--by the gods no--was

He awoke with a shout, his hands clasped in front of him. His body was sheathed in a cold, damp sweat.

A sharp rap at the door made him leap, panther-like, to his feet. He strode quietly to the banded door, quietly turning the brass handle. The door opened with a soft squeak.

A muscular red-haired guard peered in at the room curiously. "You shouted, good sir?"

Sextus clenched a fist at the Mirans' constant politeness. "It was nothing, my lord," he said gruffly. "Simply a dream. Take no heed of it."

"Are you certain, sir?" the young man asked. "We take much store by dreams. They contain secrets of the Heaven, sir. I could try--was

"No!" Sextus cried, perhaps a little too forcefully. "I don't want my dreams being poured over by white-skins."

The guard looked slightly affronted, but said nothing about it. "As you wish, my sir," he soothed. "My lord Hergeboldt has ordered that you be given the strictest care."

"Has he now?" Valentinus' voice was still gravelly with sleep. "How very sweet of him." His lip curled in derision. "So ... Hergeboldt is his name. And what is yours, my lord?"

"Me? I am First Captain Yacov Feinzar, my sir."

"Yacov. A good, strong name," Valentinus muttered softly. "My people take much store by names. Did you know that, my lord?"

"No, sir, I did not. Perhaps--if you told me what you know of my name--I can tell you what I know of your my dream."

Valentinus let out a booming laugh. "So, we have a bargainer! All right, white-skin, I shall tell you of your name. Yacov ... was Valentinus' eyes took on a rather vacant look as he twirled strands of his auburn hair around a finger. "Strength, Golden strength is what your name is. Fiery gold, like the sun, but tempered with steel. No blade shall ever cut you down, no axe shall ever split your skull, my lord."

Yacov looked slightly perplexed, running a thumb along his scarred jaw. "Thank ... thank you, my sir. Now, now you must tell me of your dream."

Sextus recounted, in as much detail as he could, the dream he had witnessed. Yacov seemed keenly interested, and continually asked for elaborations.

"Now, the cross, my sir, you say it made of iron, yes?" he asked, leaning forward.

"I have told you ... three times already, Yacov," Valentinus muttered with some impatience. "Iron ... rose-colored. It had white flowers all around it. And ... there was something nailed to it."

Yacov gripped Valentinus' arm. "But what was it, my lord? If you knew what it was, I could tell you more clearly of any portents the dream has."

"Not ... not human," Sextus scrunched up his face. "Something red. A creature. It almost ... was he trailed off, bemused at his own words. "But no, that could not be the truth."

"And my sir," Feinzar pressed, "what happened?"

"I ... climbed up the cross," Sextus said thickly. "I... wanted to help whatever was held there. But then ... to 1 a shudder wracked his body as he remembered the clammy hand, the foul breath, and the harsh language. He told all of this to Yacov in just above a whisper.

Yacov's face fell, lines creasing in thought. to II ... I must tell you, my sir, I do not know what this means. I have little skill in the telling of dreams, and I have never heard of one like this."

Sextus stretched, his eyes glancing around the windowless room. "Not that it matters. Anyone of my stock can tell you that dreams are little more than the babblings of the mind."

"Ah, but, sir, does the mind have important things that it would like to babble?"

--

Sextus awoke to a small breakfast of honeyed bread and milk. After being given a few minutes to robe himself in a soft, brocaded tunic, he was lead to a well-furnished study.

Hergeboldt sat at a pinewood desk, his watery eyes fixed upon a scroll of parchment. Writing feverishly, he gave Valentinus a small motion to sit in a chair. Seating himself, Sextus cracked his knuckles as he waited for the Miran to finish his work.

Finally, Hergeboldt looked up, wiping an ink-stained hand on his tunic. "To business, sir. First of all, I do not believe I have your name. What is it, Islander?"

"Sextus," he replied through clenched teeth. "My name is Sextus."

"That is all?" the Miran cocked his head quizically. "I was told your kind have three names, not one."

"My name ... is Sextus," repeated the Islander in a dangerous tone. "That is all you shall know, Miran."

"Very well," Hergeboldt replied calmly. "And my name is--was

"Lord Hergeboldt," Sextus broke in. "Your friendly guard outside my prison cell told me. Apparently you trust me a little bit more than I would have thought, Miran. Keeping the doors unlocked is a dangerous thing to do with someone ... like me."

The Miran looked slightly flustered at this, but remained unperturbed. "Sextus. Tomorrow, we shall journey to Babylon. Already, plans for the ziggurat are being laid. We must journey by the Jade Road, for my caravan is large. Once there, you shall be in charge of the laying of the foundations. I shall have others from the islands of Kanto who shall instruct the great spiral causeway."

Valentinus' face remained stoic, tan lines wrinkled in concentration. "So ... what will that mean for you?"

"Why, very little, sir," the Miran continued in his achingly polite tone. "I shall be involved in ... other matters." Valentinus' hastened away from speculating about what those other matters might be. "You shall be directing the laying of the bricks. Once that is done, we shall see what else may be done with you. Perhaps I shall show you to one of my compatriots in Babylon. They could always use a strong warrior."

"Must I repeat what I said yesterday about speaking to me as chattel?" Brutus spat.

The Miran waited for Sextus' temper to cool, and resumed speaking. "You could, however, stay in my services. I will, after resting in Babylon, soon be journeying to other lands. Journeying over sea is quite dangerous, as I am sure you know. A trained war-leader would be ... most useful."

Ah," the bronze man's tone was sardonic. "So you want me to protect your skin from those to whom you owe debts?"

Blotches of color entered Hergeboldt's pale cheeks. "Please," he said with some restraint, "do not say such a thing again." He fingered the glittering metal sphere at his waist.

Sextus laughed heartily. "Have I not proved to you that I can deal with any pathetic slaves you may send against me?"

Hergeboldt let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh. "Well, it does appear that way at the moment, my good sir. But I have ... others that I am sure you would find not so pleasant."

With a dismissive wave, Hergeboldt moved on to other matters. "There is not much I wish of you today, Sextus. I have asked the good Yacov to take you through the streets of Mir." Reaching underneath the finished wood of the desk, he withdrew a large pouch of jingling gold coins. Placing it in Valentinus' hands, he motioned for him to stand. With a sharp rap on the desk, he summoned the flaming-haired Yacov into the study. The burly guard nodded as Hergeboldt gave him instructions on where to escort their servant. Sextus watched silently, his bronzed arms folded across his massive chest.

"Come with me, my lord," Yacov said with a small bow of deference. "Today is the third day of the Golden Market. I shall take you there. Perhaps you may buy something?"

Dimly, Sextus recalled his trip through the markets. Small crystals, stones, animal skulls, and other curios filled the silken stalls. Vendors trilled through bone whistles, bleating

tilde

their wears like sheep. Sextus placed a small gold coin in the pale hand of one of the stall merchants for an alabaster statue of the Great Dragon, Lugia. Time and again, the jade cobblestones drew his fascination. Surreptitiously, he dislodged a loose jade stone from the ground, placing it in his tunic pocket. Just before the pink glow of sunset, Sextus and Feinzar stopped at a tavern. It's rusted sign, painted with a curved sword in the mouth of a dragon, flapped in the soft breeze.

Briefly sitting at a long wooden table, they sipped flagons of hot wine. Yacov inquired further about his dream, but Sextus continued to remain silent. The ruckus of the tavern's other patrons soon drove them back to the sprawling manor house of Hergeboldt.

Striding through the blue-green lawns, Valentinus' mind continued to race. There was no chance of escape in Miran country--he, a bronze foreigner, would be instantly recognized alone. He relaxed as the realization sunk in. His people were separated from him by a vast expanse of desert and rolling sea.

He lay on his hard bed into the night, pondering. The rustling palm trees of his homeland still lingered within his memory. He recalled frolicking on the golden-white beaches, scrounging for clam-shells to break open. He would swim gracefully in the shallow tides, and go hunting with his comrades for wild boar and rabbits. Gradually, his thoughts wandered back to Hergeboldt.

Who was this? This insatiably polite, ruthlessly secretive Miran? Valentinus' knew the habits of foreigners well--they usually turned out to be vain or cruel. His lord was not like that ... not as it seemed. But he also knew Mirans, with their pale skin and oily voices, were devious and untrustworthy.

Lord Hergeboldt seemed to be neither of these extremes. He had given Valentinus an escort through the city, a luxury almost unheard of for a slave. As a curtain of darkness fell over his eyes, Valentinus wished he was back on his island, away from the scheming and secrets of Orre and Mir and Babylon.

--

"And they said, Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves and not be scattered over the face of the whole earth."

--Genesis 11:4

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	2. The First Seal

THE FIRST SEAL

The Bricklayer. Ziggurat. Dreams and Secrets.

Sweat beaded his forehead as he lifted the enormous red block of crystal-stone from the ground. Massively muscled arms strained to force the brick into its rightful place. The sun burned down on the back of Sextus's neck as he coated the cracks in the wall with mud mixed with clay and sand. The mortar baked in the sun, drying and cracking. Thus, more mortar would be placed in the bricks, which would expand and harden.

A stout Machoke beside him effortlessly lifted a rough stone, smashing it into a gap next to his own. Brutus' thoughts wandered as his arms lifted and placed, lifted and placed. Back to the Golden Market, to the phoenix-ships and silk stalls with the fat, greasy merchants looking to make a copper. There he had been bound and gagged with sealskin rope, paraded down the jade streets of Mir for all to see.

"Strong, brown-skinned slaves!" his driver shouted harshly, bringing a bladed thong down on his bronzed back. Valentinus held back a cry of pain, keeping his head down as he strode forward. He was placed up on a chopped wooden block for the pale-skinned Mirans to admire. Together with their creatures they walked past, some laughing and others staring admiringly at his rippling physique.

He gazed around in trepidation. Vendors dressed in soft Arcanine fur sold trinkets of gold and silver. The smell of cooking meat over fires pervaded the streets. Valentinus' stomach growled in protest. They had only given him a scrap of bread to chew on before his display.

A short, plump man dressed in a silk robe embroidered with Dragonair approached the block. His eyes gleamed red in wrinkled folds of white skin. Brutus looked down in disgust.

"Ah," the man said in a smooth, oily voice. "Let us see here. Strong arms ... good eyes. Workman's hands. Yes, my good master, this will be an excellent addition to my supply of bricklayers."

Sextus strained at his bonds. "Don't talk to me like I am chattel, you Miran devil!" he shouted.

His feet slipped forward. The oak block he was standing on overbalanced, and Valentinus toppled on to the rich merchant.

They fell in a tangle of flesh and robes, Brutus kicking every part of the merchant he could reach. Pale-skinned onlookers laughed with glee at the sight of a foreign slave wrestling with a merchant.

Strong, iron-ringed hands grasped Sextus' broad shoulders, wrenching him off the whimpering Miran. Roaring, the slave struggled to break free of two burly men's grips. One backhanded him across the face, steel rings producing long, bloody gouges. The Miran he had beaten was getting to his feet, spluttering with the utmost indignation. He withdrew a red-and-white sphere from a leather belt around his waist, lobbing it gently into the air. A flash of white light, and the ball opened. A tall, strapping creature emerged from the light. Scales of dark red, contrasted with its long, twining tail, tipped with a crackling blue flame.

"Charmelion," the foreigner hissed in his oily voice, "teach this insolent fool a lesson. Slash!"

The guards let him go, amused at the display that would follow. The Charmelion raised a clawed hand, leaping forward with a roar toward Sextus.

With a growl, Valentinus whirled on the spot. A tanned foot slammed into the Charmelion's gut. It shrieked with pain, but still attempted to swipe at the slave. Sextus snapped his hand outward, latching onto the Pokemon's wrist. With a twist and a crack, the Charmelion was staggering back in agony.

The Miran was looking positively enraged at this turn of events. Valentinus' master, a stout dark-haired man, gripped his thong with both hands.

"I shall kill you, worthless slave!" the Miran's lips were flecked with spit. "Charmelion, employ your Fire Spin now!"

The lizard-Pokemon hissed through its teeth. With a bang and a loud crackle, a bright ring of azure fire erupted into being around Brutus. The flames began to spiral inward, slowly closing in on the hapless slave. The Mirans watched with baited breath, smiles on their faces as they waited to see him burned alive.

Sextus crouched, legs poised. Just as it appeared the fire would begin to singe his body, he leapt upward with a deafening roar. The fire whirled into a sphere that exploded into innumerable crimson fragments.

"Now, foolish white-skin, do you seek to kill me once more?" Valentinus' mouth twisted down in a curling smirk.

"Guards!" the foreigner screamed, practically in apoplexy. "Seize him!"

Instantly, four hugely muscled men wearing leather banded with iron grabbed Sextus' arms, hauling in the air. He fought, growling and kicking, but was soon subdued by a guard's well-placed fist. He was unceremoniously dropped onto a rickety wooden cart pulled by two large Growlithe. The Miran directed the cart through a maze of twisting jade streets, to a plot of soil where several other tan foreigners were laying bricks and spreading mortar.

With a decisive slap to the face, the slave was awakened. The guards yanked him to his feet, where he wobbled uncomfortably. Eyes of the darkest brown glared around at his captors. The oily Miran bowed to him, wiping a sweaty hand on his forehead.

"Sir," he said in a suspiciously kind voice tinged with mirth. "You have displayed ... excellent skill. I am sure, your services can be ... put to use. You see, my good man, my family is quite wealthy. We are patrons of a grand plan in a far-off city, and we need--was

Seemingly out of impatience, Sextus spat in his face.

Unperturbed, the man wiped his face once again. "Now," he hissed. "Let's not have any of that. I really do not want to command my guards to injure you again."

Smoldering, Valentinus relaxed his muscles. "Fine," he growled. "Speak your due, Miran."

"Very well. Now, my sir. We are patrons of a grand plan in a far off city. Perhaps you have heard of Babylon, on the shore of the Orre Ocean?"

Valentinus' gave a kurt nod. "I have."

"We are building a ziggurat there! Imagine it, my good man! A ziggurat! A tower to touch the very clouds! It will be a temple to the Mother, of course. We don't want to dishonor our great God."

Dark brown eyes alight, Sextus face showed slightly more interest. "And you ... you would like me to help build this ziggurat?"

"Why, yes!" the Miran looked positively delighted, his watery blue eyes lit with a keen fire. "You see, my sir, you are a superb fighter. And, you may make an absolutely wonderful bricklayer, with a little tutoring. You will come to Babylon with me and my family. You will be accorded all the luxuries of an honored guest--if you due as you are told."

"Ha!" Valentinus snorted. "And what will I be told to do, Miran?"

"Why, sir, simply lay bricks! It will not be strenuous I assure you--the foundation's shall be your occupation. You will not have the job of climbing the twisting spiral of silver to place the quartz bricks at the very top of the ziggurat. And ... if you perform your job satisfactorily ... you shall be rewarded."

Sextus' teeth clenched in annoyance at the Miran's smugly superior attitude. "It doesn't appear I have a choice, does it, Miran?"

The Miran shook his head, his elaborately curled dark hair swishing behind him. "Not so, I fear, my sir. Now--if you would follow your guards, they will escort you to your chambers ?was

His guards had lead him through a house built of strong oak logs, paneled in slats of spruce wood. Lacquered gold tables were set with foaming goblets and collops of meat in the dining hall. Walking past that, Sextus' grumbled in protest. "If I am to work for this tyrant, I would like at least a little bread."

"Quiet!" hissed one of the guards, slamming a fist into Valentinus' gut. "You do not speak of our master, wretch!"

Valentinus growled in his throat, but stayed doubled over as if in pain. Standing up, he nodded to the guards. "Take me to my room, then."

His room consisted of a bare oak floor, lined with rushes and soft furs. A plain table set with a clay jug of water and plate of hard bread sat beside a hard wooden bed. Taking some of the green rushes, Valentinus spread them on the bed to use for a makeshift blanket.

Wolfing down the bread greedily, his mind raced to form a coherent picture. He gulped the jug of water as he formulated a plan. He leaped nimbly onto the low bed, arranging the rushes to his satisfaction. Spreading his arms in contentment, his mind relaxed into a sound sleep.

--

Towering above him, there stood a vast iron cross. Its rosy surface was flourished with frescos of delicate white flowers. Fog surrounded it, hazy smoke obscuring vision. Pained, whimpering cries were issuing from its top.

Valentinus strained his eyes, seeking to find the source. Desperately, he leaped upward and began shimmying his way up the cross. The fog began to disperse, wisps of haze choking his nostrils. He caught a brief glimpse of dark pink fur before he felt a clammy, clawed hand grasp his throat from behind. A low, rasping voice hissed a guttural tongue into his ear.

His body began to tremble in horror as the icy hand began to squeeze his windpipe. "No--no--by the gods no--was

He awoke with a shout, his hands clasped in front of him. His body was sheathed in a cold, damp sweat.

A sharp rap at the door made him leap, panther-like, to his feet. He strode quietly to the banded door, quietly turning the brass handle. The door opened with a soft squeak.

A muscular red-haired guard peered in at the room curiously. "You shouted, good sir?"

Sextus clenched a fist at the Mirans' constant politeness. "It was nothing, my lord," he said gruffly. "Simply a dream. Take no heed of it."

"Are you certain, sir?" the young man asked. "We take much store by dreams. They contain secrets of the Heaven, sir. I could try--was

"No!" Sextus cried, perhaps a little too forcefully. "I don't want my dreams being poured over by white-skins."

The guard looked slightly affronted, but said nothing about it. "As you wish, my sir," he soothed. "My lord Hergeboldt has ordered that you be given the strictest care."

"Has he now?" Valentinus' voice was still gravelly with sleep. "How very sweet of him." His lip curled in derision. "So ... Hergeboldt is his name. And what is yours, my lord?"

"Me? I am First Captain Yacov Feinzar, my sir."

"Yacov. A good, strong name," Valentinus muttered softly. "My people take much store by names. Did you know that, my lord?"

"No, sir, I did not. Perhaps--if you told me what you know of my name--I can tell you what I know of your my dream."

Valentinus let out a booming laugh. "So, we have a bargainer! All right, white-skin, I shall tell you of your name. Yacov ... was Valentinus' eyes took on a rather vacant look as he twirled strands of his auburn hair around a finger. "Strength, Golden strength is what your name is. Fiery gold, like the sun, but tempered with steel. No blade shall ever cut you down, no axe shall ever split your skull, my lord."

Yacov looked slightly perplexed, running a thumb along his scarred jaw. "Thank ... thank you, my sir. Now, now you must tell me of your dream."

Sextus recounted, in as much detail as he could, the dream he had witnessed. Yacov seemed keenly interested, and continually asked for elaborations.

"Now, the cross, my sir, you say it made of iron, yes?" he asked, leaning forward.

"I have told you ... three times already, Yacov," Valentinus muttered with some impatience. "Iron ... rose-colored. It had white flowers all around it. And ... there was something nailed to it."

Yacov gripped Valentinus' arm. "But what was it, my lord? If you knew what it was, I could tell you more clearly of any portents the dream has."

"Not ... not human," Sextus scrunched up his face. "Something red. A creature. It almost ... was he trailed off, bemused at his own words. "But no, that could not be the truth."

"And my sir," Feinzar pressed, "what happened?"

"I ... climbed up the cross," Sextus said thickly. "I... wanted to help whatever was held there. But then ... to 1 a shudder wracked his body as he remembered the clammy hand, the foul breath, and the harsh language. He told all of this to Yacov in just above a whisper.

Yacov's face fell, lines creasing in thought. to II ... I must tell you, my sir, I do not know what this means. I have little skill in the telling of dreams, and I have never heard of one like this."

Sextus stretched, his eyes glancing around the windowless room. "Not that it matters. Anyone of my stock can tell you that dreams are little more than the babblings of the mind."

"Ah, but, sir, does the mind have important things that it would like to babble?"

--

Sextus awoke to a small breakfast of honeyed bread and milk. After being given a few minutes to robe himself in a soft, brocaded tunic, he was lead to a well-furnished study.

Hergeboldt sat at a pinewood desk, his watery eyes fixed upon a scroll of parchment. Writing feverishly, he gave Valentinus a small motion to sit in a chair. Seating himself, Sextus cracked his knuckles as he waited for the Miran to finish his work.

Finally, Hergeboldt looked up, wiping an ink-stained hand on his tunic. "To business, sir. First of all, I do not believe I have your name. What is it, Islander?"

"Sextus," he replied through clenched teeth. "My name is Sextus."

"That is all?" the Miran cocked his head quizically. "I was told your kind have three names, not one."

"My name ... is Sextus," repeated the Islander in a dangerous tone. "That is all you shall know, Miran."

"Very well," Hergeboldt replied calmly. "And my name is--was

"Lord Hergeboldt," Sextus broke in. "Your friendly guard outside my prison cell told me. Apparently you trust me a little bit more than I would have thought, Miran. Keeping the doors unlocked is a dangerous thing to do with someone ... like me."

The Miran looked slightly flustered at this, but remained unperturbed. "Sextus. Tomorrow, we shall journey to Babylon. Already, plans for the ziggurat are being laid. We must journey by the Jade Road, for my caravan is large. Once there, you shall be in charge of the laying of the foundations. I shall have others from the islands of Kanto who shall instruct the great spiral causeway."

Valentinus' face remained stoic, tan lines wrinkled in concentration. "So ... what will that mean for you?"

"Why, very little, sir," the Miran continued in his achingly polite tone. "I shall be involved in ... other matters." Valentinus' hastened away from speculating about what those other matters might be. "You shall be directing the laying of the bricks. Once that is done, we shall see what else may be done with you. Perhaps I shall show you to one of my compatriots in Babylon. They could always use a strong warrior."

"Must I repeat what I said yesterday about speaking to me as chattel?" Brutus spat.

The Miran waited for Sextus' temper to cool, and resumed speaking. "You could, however, stay in my services. I will, after resting in Babylon, soon be journeying to other lands. Journeying over sea is quite dangerous, as I am sure you know. A trained war-leader would be ... most useful."

Ah," the bronze man's tone was sardonic. "So you want me to protect your skin from those to whom you owe debts?"

Blotches of color entered Hergeboldt's pale cheeks. "Please," he said with some restraint, "do not say such a thing again." He fingered the glittering metal sphere at his waist.

Sextus laughed heartily. "Have I not proved to you that I can deal with any pathetic slaves you may send against me?"

Hergeboldt let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh. "Well, it does appear that way at the moment, my good sir. But I have ... others that I am sure you would find not so pleasant."

With a dismissive wave, Hergeboldt moved on to other matters. "There is not much I wish of you today, Sextus. I have asked the good Yacov to take you through the streets of Mir." Reaching underneath the finished wood of the desk, he withdrew a large pouch of jingling gold coins. Placing it in Valentinus' hands, he motioned for him to stand. With a sharp rap on the desk, he summoned the flaming-haired Yacov into the study. The burly guard nodded as Hergeboldt gave him instructions on where to escort their servant. Sextus watched silently, his bronzed arms folded across his massive chest.

"Come with me, my lord," Yacov said with a small bow of deference. "Today is the third day of the Golden Market. I shall take you there. Perhaps you may buy something?"

Dimly, Sextus recalled his trip through the markets. Small crystals, stones, animal skulls, and other curios filled the silken stalls. Vendors trilled through bone whistles, bleating

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their wears like sheep. Sextus placed a small gold coin in the pale hand of one of the stall merchants for an alabaster statue of the Great Dragon, Lugia. Time and again, the jade cobblestones drew his fascination. Surreptitiously, he dislodged a loose jade stone from the ground, placing it in his tunic pocket. Just before the pink glow of sunset, Sextus and Feinzar stopped at a tavern. It's rusted sign, painted with a curved sword in the mouth of a dragon, flapped in the soft breeze.

Briefly sitting at a long wooden table, they sipped flagons of hot wine. Yacov inquired further about his dream, but Sextus continued to remain silent. The ruckus of the tavern's other patrons soon drove them back to the sprawling manor house of Hergeboldt.

Striding through the blue-green lawns, Valentinus' mind continued to race. There was no chance of escape in Miran country--he, a bronze foreigner, would be instantly recognized alone. He relaxed as the realization sunk in. His people were separated from him by a vast expanse of desert and rolling sea.

He lay on his hard bed into the night, pondering. The rustling palm trees of his homeland still lingered within his memory. He recalled frolicking on the golden-white beaches, scrounging for clam-shells to break open. He would swim gracefully in the shallow tides, and go hunting with his comrades for wild boar and rabbits. Gradually, his thoughts wandered back to Hergeboldt.

Who was this? This insatiably polite, ruthlessly secretive Miran? Valentinus' knew the habits of foreigners well--they usually turned out to be vain or cruel. His lord was not like that ... not as it seemed. But he also knew Mirans, with their pale skin and oily voices, were devious and untrustworthy.

Lord Hergeboldt seemed to be neither of these extremes. He had given Valentinus an escort through the city, a luxury almost unheard of for a slave. As a curtain of darkness fell over his eyes, Valentinus wished he was back on his island, away from the scheming and secrets of Orre and Mir and Babylon.

--

"And they said, Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves and not be scattered over the face of the whole earth."

--Genesis 11:4

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